What Price a Life
'Monastery Grounds - ' ----- :Eight centuries ago, The Church of True Light sent its carpenters and architects into the wilderness southeast of the Old City, now known as the Shadow District, to build a monastic facility for the scholarly eunuchs of the church to ponder their faith and expand the influence of the church to new frontiers. Thammon Greengrass, a carpenter descended from servants indentured to House Lomasa, designed and supervised construction of the Nights Edge Monastery. :''A five-foot-high outwall of sun clay bricks surrounds the acreage of the grounds. At the heart of it all is a roughly rectangular monastery building that had in the past several decades has been acquired by the former House Mikin with the blessing of and refurbished as a manor home. :''After it fell into disrepair after being abandoned in early 625 ATA, it was reclaimed and restored by Celeste Mikin following the Wildlands Expedition of 627 ATA. The refurbished monastery features a spacious courtyard, visible through a large archway of rounded sun clay bricks to the north. Over the years the manor home has taken on a horseshoe appearance surrounding a central garden courtyard. :''A trail leading back to the thoroughfare of Mikin Road to the south extends from the courtyard of the monastery. The eastern edge of the vast and beautiful Dawnstar Forest can be see to the west, while rolling grasslands blanket the horizon to the north and east. ----- Ashlynn sits perched upon a low wall at about chest height, one foot braced upon the edge with an arm wrapped around the knee. Making a light meal of some hard tack and cheese, the courier teases Conceit - the mare currently with only a halter and lead on while the saddle blanket dries upon its back - with an occasional bit of apple, the mare alternately nibbling at the tidbits and the weeds growing at the foot of the wall. While the main pathway connects the onetime monastery to the wide stretch of Mikin Road, one would likely notice a spidery system of smaller foot-trails branching out to servants' dens and stables, clotheslines and washing wells, and, finally, a grassy and well-beaten path that would lead one into the depths of Mikin Wood. It is from the latter that Caprice slowly approaches, her ebon-hued armor gleaming deep red in the light of the setting sun. "Uh-uh, Conceit, bow for me," Ashlynn chides, moving the last of the apple out of reach of the mare's lips. "Bow," she repeats, a little more sternly, inclining her head downwards in demonstration. Snorting, the mare backs up with a sulky toss of its head, pawing at the ground. "Bow," one more time, and finally the mare consents to bend one knee and lower its head - enough that the courier finally chuckles and rewards the animal, wholly distracted for the time being. Though Reese's course seems to be guiding her toward the monastery proper, she pauses at the sound of the voice, swiveling her head to squint the courier's way. Blue eyes skim the human-and-horse duo, sizing them up, until she's quite certain of their identities. Furrowing her brow, the ranger instead heads their way. Conceit, still chomping at the last piece, raises its head to sniff wistfully at Ashlynn's sides, searching for hidden pockets of apples. "No more, you greedy thing," the courier chuckles, scratching the mare's forehead with her knuckles before the approach of a mailed form finally catches her attention. Her smile fading for a moment as she looks up, it soon returns when she recognizes who it is. "Mistress," she addresses with a wave while the horse rests its head in her lap with a long-suffering whuff, suffering its ears to be tugged. Neither smiling nor waving, Reese returns the greeting. "Mistress," she returns with a small nod, careful not to pass too close to the backside of the temperamental Conceit. She laces her hands at her back, unthinkingly assuming a soldier's parade-rest. "Woul' nae 'spect tae see ye here. 'Tis fortuna', aye." Already well used to the pathfinder's manner in their few encounters, Ashlynn brushes Conceit's head away and slithers down from the wall with an amiable nod. "I dropped Wolfsbane off here last night, and decided that I should visit some others while I was at it." An arch of a brow as she brushes off her hands and shoves the mare's shoulder aside to give her more room, she asks, "Fortunate? I am supposing that you mean more by that than the mere chance to exchange pleasantries..." "Wolfsbane." The name rolls off of Caprice's tongue with calculated familiarity, and a contemplative glance slides from the face of the courier to the faint glow of the manor's windows. Just as quickly, though, she abandons whatever thoughts she's entertaining, tucking a lock of hair behind the flower at her ear, and considers Ashlynn. "I woul' ask a favoor." Caprice's reaction to the mention of Vhramis gains a close look from the courier, but the following request handily overrides all speculation as Ashlynn blinks at the other woman. "A favor? What would you ask?" Oblivious to - or simply ignoring - any suspicions the courier is nurturing, Reese merely shakes her head. "Ye seem 'n honoor'ble sort, Mistress Birch," she replies, stealing a narrow-eyed look around their immediate environment for eavesdroppers. "Any frien' o' Wolfsbane moost be, aye. There be a fam'ly 'n th' dell. A bowyer, aye, wi' a gimp leg an' a sick wife. Laris an' Raina," the Firelight continues, her soft voice even lower than usual. "Laris oowns a small shoop 'n Trademee'. They've a daugh'er. Wee lass, a blonde hair, freckles. Sharis." Blue eyes flick to meet Ashlynn's. "I woul' comp'nsa' ye greetly whit if'n ye took her somewhere safe, aye, an' in secret." An absent frown creases Ashlynn's brow as she follows the trail of names, until it clears in recognition at the mention of the girl's. "The one you met the other night?" she asks, voice unconsciously lowered in mimicry of the other woman's. "Where would be considered...'safe'? And just the girl alone?" she asks with wary concern. Reese licks her lips, avoiding eye contact again. "Aye, joos' th' girl. Tell 'em... tell 'em 'tis m' doin'. They'll nae oonderstan', boot... they'll lissen." Unease fills the brief silence. Her thumb is absently, perhaps nervously, rubbing against the hilt of her dagger. "Wolfsbane weel ken a safe place, aye, o' tha' I be certain. An' he weel assis' me. Troost." This time there is a considering pause as Ashlynn eyes the other woman long, and then she grimaces, absently pulling her braid over her shoulder so that she may tug upon its end while she ponders. "For how long should this be? Perhaps I can make up some story, to set the parents somewhat at ease, rather than have them hollering to the nearest guard that I kidnapped their daughter," apparently, not so blindly reassured by the pathfinder's assertion that the parents would go along with the scheme. "It somewhat sets my mind at ease, though, for you to name Vhramis. Otherwise, I might wonder if you were making me an unwitting accomplice in an abduction," she quips wanly. "When does this need to be done by?" "Soon 's poos'ble," Reese sighs, worry capturing her countenance despite her obvious attempts to fight it back. Even with an audience to perform for, the battle is lost. "Hae ye queel an' parchmen', Mistress? I woul' hae a message d'livered." Even as she speaks, her hands are working at the knots of her moneypouch. "I've coin." "Hold, please," Ashlynn sighs with a hand raised. "I would barter a bit first." A wink to show that she is not serious about the issue over coin, she moves toward the saddlebags stacked neatly nearby to take out implements for writing even as she continues, "Trust you I may, upon Vhramis' name, but I think I deserve to know a little more about what I am agreeing to. Would you care to trade a little information for my cooperation? And Ashlynn or Ash will do just fine." Reese does hold when she's asked, pausing to glower at the other woman as she jockeys for information. "Th' leetle lass may die," she enunciates, the words hissed through clenched teeth. "Ye breek nae laws. Ye dae whit's righ'. Ye sa' a child. Rogues an' e'il-doers weel keel her, whit I donnae stoop them. Hide her." The words are dire enough, but Ashlynn has weathered enough disasters to manage a cooler mien in the face of them, now. "You worry enough for her. My worry is for you instead," she states simply with a glance toward the woman before she is uncapping an inkwell; a sheet of parchment already laid over a thin square of wood in preparation for the pen. "Someone knows enough to put her in danger to stop you, yes? And by your own words, you intend on running straight to them. What do I tell Sharis if her adored Caprice manages to do something irreparable to herself? As Master Kael seems to have done, from your conversation the other night." A dip, an expert tap to shake off excess ink, and then the pen is poised expectantly over paper as pale blue eyes look up carefully to the pathfinder. "Tell them..." Caprice fills her lungs, holding her breath long enough to study the moonless sky, as if searching for the Shadows it empowers. Stars are beginning to dot the darkening horizon, Light's last crusaders holding total blackness at bay as the sun sinks into slumber. Her chest falls slowly, slowly, as she releases the air. "Tell them I ne'er fergot th' Ligh' chose me. Tell them I were its champion t' th' last." She swallows. "Tell them I ne'er aboosed th' faith th' Crown poot in me. Tha' m' soul were allus true, aye, fer Ligh' an' Kingdoom. Tell them all I did were fer th' good o' th' land." Her gaze falls to the ground, then, studying her own shadow in the fading sunlight. Caprice Firelight concludes her own eulogy, her own obituary, with one final request: "Tell them all I did were fer them." Ashlynn's eyes narrow through the soliloquy, and at its end she gives it a proper moment of silence before concluding, "Not good enough, but I shall argue that later," before her eyes drop to the still-blank parchment and she waggles the quill over it. "What is the letter you wish delivered? And it had better not be what you just recited, I would rather not keep such an ill-fated thing upon my person until it becomes necessary." Imperials jingle-jangle in that pouch as Caprice fishes them out - far more, it's worth noting, than the cost of a simple delivery. "'t weel be necessary," she assures Ashlynn, passing the fistful of coins her way. "Weel nae be coomin' back, I fear." Ashlynn's gaze rises once more, stopping upon the extended stack of coins while a slow glower begins to form, before lifting it fully to glare upon the other woman. "Unacceptable," she states with unaccustomed steel. Commoner and courier she may be, but she has had enough exposure to noble and royal blood alike to have acquired some of the same bite when ruffled and unthinking of the consequences. "I have seen the girl worship you. I have heard Kael's earnest wish for your happiness. If not for you, then for them, I would give you a good thrashing. You go thinking that you will die, and more like than not, you most likely will - what is it you are so shades' intent on sacrificing yourself for?" Such chastisement is nothing new to Caprice, as she barely blinks in the face of it. Secrecy and evasion, while comfortable bedmates, very seldom muster anything beyond exasperation in others. "Them," she answers sadly. "Donnae as' ye t' oonderstan'," the Pathfinder goes on, after a heartbeat. She does not withdraw the payment; rather, she slides the Mikin orchid from behind her ear and presses it atop Ashlynn's extended hand, sandwiching it between flower and coin. "Th' le'er ye d'livered were death. Mine, Kael's, ' hers. I choose me." A slitted gaze meets the courier's glare. "An' th' bastard whit wroote it." Ashlynn's lip curls in distaste as the coin is pressed into her palm, though the flower captures her eye for a moment - a faint frown crossing her brow at some vague thought that the blossom tickles in the back of her mind before the pathfinder's words draws her attention once more. "I do not understand yet why you determine to do this alone," she presses, stubborn as the horse she prizes. "I know two already who would be happy to aid you, in ways perhaps more useful than I, else I would count three. I am not yet convinced your death would be worth your cause." Reese just shakes her head, a glimpse of real regret flashing across her face. Her eyes close, silver-blonde eyebrows knitting together, and her hands press together even more tightly, even more urgently. "Some stories be be'er lef' oontol', Mistress. Ashlynn," she corrects, eyes flicking open once more. "Kael kin ne'er hear o' this. If'n he tries t' aid me, weel mean our deaths fer certain. Him, Sharis, an' m'sel', aye. One death, 'r three, Mistress?" the ranger queries. "Dae ye fancy th' feel o' blood on yer hands?" "Then it will just have to be another that aids you instead of him," Ashlynn continues, undeterred; expression resolute - concern backed by bittersweet experience as well as simple compassion for another fellow human. "It is because I wish to avoid the feel of blood on them that I am fighting for you now when you will not do so for yourself. Tell me who it is you face - what was the purpose of that letter to you, and the gem?" Anger, now. Reese jerks her arm back suddenly, glittering coins and soft white petals spilling from between her fingers. What remains in her grip is balled hard in her fists, a strangled stem and a few scant Kahars. "Sin an' shades, Birch!" she snarls, baring her teeth like a frustrated animal in the jaws of a trap. "Donnae need t' be questiooned as I were a trooublesome schoolchild! Troost m' damnable judgment. Th' issue be private. If I hae na' yer cooperation, I shall seek anoother's." Ashlynn leans back, a similar glitter arising in her gaze, but her lips pressed tight to suppress her initial reaction before she releases a long breath. "And who else to question you, then?" she asks with forced quietness, gaze flicking down to the scattered pay; eyes as hard as the metal. "Sometimes what we think is right is still not the best path. Best for someone to point it out now, than when it is too late. If you will not let kith or kin do so, then others must needs suffice." She meets the pathfinder's gaze levelly. "I will see the girl safe, but you do her and yourself and all those that might care for you more disservice than any pretty words in a stranger's hand can assuade afterwards. If I anger you in this, I apologize - I had not wished to, had even wondered before if we might become whatever you count as friend in your measure. But if you would throw yourself away so heedlessly, I would rather burn that oil to light your way than hoard it." Conceit whickers and snorts uneasily at the flash of temper from the usually taciturn Caprice, but the Pathfinder pays the beast no mind, pointing the stem of a dead flower at Ashlynn where they stand exchanging heated words near a low wall. Coins and petals are scattered between them in the dirt. "If'n 't be frien'ship ye want, Ashlynn, dae me th' service o' savin' m' fam'ly," argues Reese, equal parts frustrated and desperate, and steadily losing ground in this war. "If'n I dinnae troost ye, I woul' nae hae asked!" Ashlynn is quick to take advantage of the woman's words, looking up - suddenly imploring, when she had been just as unyielding before. "Trust me enough, and maybe we can save more than just your family, eh?" she asks, ignoring flower-stab and accusations alike. "Come with me to take Sharis to Vhramis. She will trust you more than a complete stranger, no? If this is all the time you have left, there is no sense in wasting it - in the meantime, perhaps he and I and you might find some way of extending it significantly. If you are so intent on going to your death, at least not rush to it," she concludes with a touch of desperate, irreverent humor. Naoi returns, chainbelt of the Ordinator wrapped about her waist, book kept propped underneath her left arm. Her faint footsteps are to paced, to certain, to suggest skulking, but not quite fast enough to call hasty. She simply walks as a traveler does, a tired one, one footstep in front of the other, mindless in it's rhythm with eyes staring ahead. Check and mate. Caprice is defeated, and she knows it. Everyone knows it, anyone can tell by the resolve disintegrating behind her eyes; the flame just dies out. "Yer righ'." The admission is a sigh, accompanied by a tired rub at her brow. "Yer righ', o' course. M'... apoologies, aye, fer..." Ah, but she just can't say it. "Yer righ'." For all her confidence in her position, it seems Ashlynn is not above revealing some of her relief at the pathfinder's capitulation, releasing an audible sigh and a slightly wan smile. "No need for that yet, we have yet to ensure your survival," she quips wryly, her head turning, distracted, when she hears the ordinator's approach. "Come, help me with this, best not to leave it scattered about even if I will not take it yet," she notes as she sets down writing implements to begin collecting the scattered coins. "Keep it 'til we have decided on the rest and Sharis is safely with Vhramis." Naoi's path is taking her on an approach course for the two, shifting in and out of the deeper shadows that flank the trail leading toward the monastery. The first realization of others is the hesitation in her stride, a slight hitch, and then she continues on firmly. Now her stride has speed, a certain firmness of purpose other then finding somewhere to sit down. A breath, as if she were winded and worn from a beating, and then Reese nods. She slides what few Kahars she's maintained ahold of into her coinpurse, then considers the wreck of a flower in her fingers. Her lips twist into a frown, and for a moment - she looks almost rueful, as if she found some meaning in its destruction. A mirthless chuff, then she tosses the stem aside, crouching in the dirt to collect the copper pieces. Ashlynn has been working steadily to collect the now-dusty pieces, collecting a last handful which she blows upon - and promptly squints and coughs at the fine cloud that rises from them. "No, not for you," she gasps when Conceit, sensing the passing of tempers, noses curiously at her hands. Wiping her tearing eyes on her sleeve, she straightens and begins handing the coins back to Caprice as she looks toward the approaching figure inquisitively. Naoi just misses the handoff, gray eyes shifting between the two as she walks. There, no pause, the orbs half-lidding in consideration. Then? She blows right past the two, without even a greeting. Though advice given is worth the air expended, in her mind at least, back stiff and walk militaristic despite the dress. "It is late. Go to bed." Off she goes. Caprice's disinterested glance turns into a puzzled double-take as the Ordinator takes it upon herself to time-clock the monastery's inhabitants. Absently taking the coins and pocketing them, the ranger peers into the heavens before sending looks over each armored shoulder. "Be there a curfew?" she wonders aloud before she sourly opines, "I dislike thi' place." Ashlynn looks little better, staring after the same ordinator with a mouth still left half-open in bewilderment - a reflexive greeting left stillborn as the woman handily passes them by. "I only remember the one from months ago," she answers vaguely, before shaking herself and steadying herself with a stroke of Conceit's nose. "Well, as good of an excuse as any to quit it. It is late..." she begins with a considering squint at the positions of the stars overhead, "but...did you want to go visit Sharis tonight? Or tomorrow?" "I woul' speak wi' Wolfsbane," Reese replies, smoothly sliding back into her stoic skin as if the outburst had never happened. With an unnatural grace, she rolls back on her heels and rises in a single fluid movement. "Boot I'll nae stay... here fer th' nigh'," she finishes, with obvious contempt. "Except this is where I dropped him off only yesterday," Ashlynn points out, before taking a last look around and sighing. "But, if you would like, I can give you a ride back to Wolfsbane Lodge. Perhaps he has already returned on his own, and most likely we will both sleep easier there regardless. It is not so far, and we can return here if necessary to track him down tomorrow." The very notion of an evening at the mages' halfway house has Reese wrinkling her nose in distaste, and the scowl she directs at its looming shape in the distance is dark indeed. "I woul' nae soobjec' m'sel' tae tha' insoof'rable woman," she grunts. "Nor be privy t' her reckless schemes." The chill is back in her blood; that split-second of camaraderie shared with Ashlynn as fleeting as fortune. She starts to turn away. "I'll nigh' in th' wood. I moost needs speak wi' Kael on th' morrow." "As you wish," Ashlynn inclines her head, gathering up her bags and hooking fingers through halter's cheekstrap to begin leading Conceit toward the stables. "Fair eve, Mistress." ----- ''Return to Season 7 (2008) Category:Logs